Fighting Solitude
by mellyD28
Summary: Follow the life of Aragorn's unknown sister, Ellathorn, as she suffers through many tragedys leaving her in solitude. Watch her as she struggles to defeat her lonliness through many adventures!
1. Prologue

_**Prologue**_

_"Elrond, you must help me," the woman pleaded with the elven lord. _

"_The boy is just a child. He cannot handle this now. You must take him. Keep him safe."_

_"Gilraen, so many things are expected from your son. No one planned for Arathorn to meet such an end. The line will be believed to have ended. This boy is the heir to the thrown of Gondor," Elrond tried to explain to the woman. _

_"Now you must understand. You must see why I'm trying to protect my son from that which you speak of. The Stewards would like nothing better than to see the end of the line of Anarion. Please, you must take Aragorn before they do something drastic. Protect him. Raise him as your own kin," Gilraen was nearly begging him now. _

_"I shall raise him if that is what you wish. He shall stay in Rivendell, but only until he is of age to prove himself in the world of men. Only until then is he welcome here. I shall call him Estel. He shall be safe with me," Elrond compromised. _

_The women looked down at the bundle she held in her arms. It was the last thing left in Middle Earth that reminded her of her spent husband. As hard as it was for her to part with the boy, she knew she was doing the right thing. She handed the bundle over to Lord Elrond before she had a chance of changing her mind. _

_"I must make haste," she called as she leapt onto her horse. "Take care of my baby," she called as she turned and galloped of into the horizon. _

_Elrond stood with the weight of the warm bundle in his hands as he watched her flowing brown hair sway in the wind as she grew further and further into the distance._

_Elrond took the baby boy to Rivendell. He knew that he would be safe there. The child was easily accepted by the elves of Rivendell. As the boy by the name of Estel grew older he thought himself as one of the elves, he became very handy with a bow, and he never asked questions of Lord Elrond concerning his real parents._


	2. Hope is Kindled

**Chapter 1**

It was a warm midsummer morning. It was ten years to the day since Gilraen had given up her only child to the elves. The recollection of the day still burned in her memory. She woke up each morning to nothing but silence and solitude. She lost her husband and was forced to give up her son. She never once considered she would end up so alone.

The woman nearly smothered herself from grief. The children of Ithilien, the city in which she dwelt, believed her to be a witch. She rarely left her house during the day. Sometimes at night she could be seen wandering in the moonlight. Often if you would walk past her home you would smell the scent of boiling herbs. The children thought of this as her brewing potions.

In a way she was brewing potions. She dedicated most of her time to boiling herbal concoctions for the Houses of Healing. She wanted to help save the lives of others' loved ones to make up for ones she lost to fate.

On this particular morning she was preparing to deliver one of her medicines, a mixture of the leaves from a bufior tree and the petals of an athelas, otherwise known as kingsfoil. This mixture is used to sooth severe burns of other skin irritations.

Gilraen had become very knowledgeable in the field of healing after so many years of 'brewing potions.' She had often considered becoming a healer herself, until she realized that it is a job that would require her to be sociable, and she definitely wasn't up for that.

She woke up especially early this morning so she could avoid crowds. She grabbed her large kettle and stepped out into the sun. The sunlight beat upon her fair, porcelain skin that looked as though it hadn't seen the light of day. She blinked at the sun as she let her eyes adjust to the daylight. She walked slowly towards the House of Healing. Carefully protecting her kettle from spilling into the street.

She heard a bird singing its morning lullaby. As she looked up she noticed the song was coming from directly above her. There were three little birds sitting in a small nest. It was a mother bird and her two babies. Now even the birds had what Gilraen did not. And to be jealous of the birds seemed almost pitiful.

"Ah! What is it you bring for me today Lady Gilraen?" Ioreth, the head healer, asked her as he looked up from his patient and saw Gilraen walk into the House.

"It is a simple mixture of leaves of a bufior tree and the petals of an athelas," she replied.

"And just in the knick of time. Beregond here has received some mildly severe burns. This will do the trick," he said as he dipped a cloth into the mixture and brought it over to the boy named Beregond.

"Mildly severe burns you say?" Gilraen played along. She looked down at the wound and saw no more than a small blister. "It looks pretty severe to me."

"You aren't going to put that on me are you, sir?" The boy said looking down at his injured hand. "She's a witch! It's poison!"

Ioreth just laughed as he dabbed it onto the boy's hand, "Children these days. How wild their imaginations have grown!" As he turned around he noticed that the women was no longer standing in the doorway where he had left her, "Gilraen?" He turned to the boy, "now look what you have done!" He stepped outside the door to see if he could still see the women walking down the path. He had never gotten an opportunity to show her his gratitude. He saw no one.

Gilraen noticed a strange absence of patients in the House of Healing on this day. There was the young boy called Beregond with whom she assumed to be his mother, an older woman lying on the bed next to him who seemed to be asleep, and a strange, cloaked man who was lying on a bed in the darkest corner of the room. The man was surrounded by three of the other healers. His case seemed to be severe. Something about the man drew Gilraen closer to where he lie in the corner.

"Please, Ironeth, fetch me some more Galenas. He's beginning to come around. He shall begin to feel the pain," an old gray-haired man asked of the young looking lady standing next to him as he looked briefly up from his patient.

"I beg your pardon, sir, what is it you want?" The women asked as she walked over to the cabinet where the herbs were stored. Gilraen recognized the woman to be a younger girl who has recently taken over an apprenticeship to become a healer herself.

"Galenas, dear girl, Galenas. _Westmansweed _in the tongue ofthe Westternesse," the old man seemed to be a bit irritated with the girl. She seemed to understand now for she grabbed a small jar from the cupboard and carried it over to the man.

Gilraen crept closer attempting to avoid being seen by the healers. A strange feeling came over her as though there were something she could do for the poor man to spare his life. Although she did not yet know what had happened to him.

"Elven medicine has been used here. Medicine that is out of my reach of knowledge. When did he arrive?" The man seemed curious now.

A quiver ran down Gilraen's spine. Elven medicine? Could it be? After so many years he was really here after all. Her heart fluttered as she inched closer to the bed. She could still not make out a face for the bed was just out of range of vision.

"He just arrived this mornin' aroun' dawn," the other healer answered.

Her heart fell as though it were a brown leaf on the golden trees of fall. Who was she kidding? Her husband was slain nearly ten years ago. Maybe the children were right. Maybe she was going crazy from grief. She needed to depart before she had any more hallucinations. She turned around to leave, and started for the door.

"It was said that he was brought here by Lord Elrond himself..."

Gilraen stopped in her tracks.

"...And another man. Now I forget who..."

"Yes, I heard that too."

"For the life of me I can't think of his name...oh well, he was some ranger from the north."

Gilraen spun around. Heart racing, she bolted over to the bed in the corner of the House nearly knocking over the healers as she pushed them aside. She knelt over the man on the bed, and gently pulled the hood from over her face. As the healers regained their balance they tried to pull her away from the man. She disregarded them, for nothing else in the world seemed to matter to her, for her husband was alive, lying right in front of her. She reached down and tenderly grasped his soft, cold hand between her own trembling hands, as if to assure her it wasn't a dream. So many nights had she dreamt of her husband returning to her, and until now it had remained no more than a dream.

"Do you know this man?" came the voice of a healer piercing through her mind as though trying to wake her in the middle of a beautiful dream.

She looked up at the healer, but no words would come. As hard as she tried to speak, the words would not come. She turned back to her long desired husband. And she wept. She wept until the tears would come no more. She buried her head in her arm, yet she still refused to release her grip on the man's hand.

The next thing she new she was laying on her back looking up at the ceiling of the great house. It had all been a dream. The fumes of the boiling herbs must have affected her brain.

Ironeth noticed that the women was awake and called for Ioreth.

"What is going on?" Gilraen begged the healer.

"I was hoping you could tell me," was his reply.

"I don't know how I could be of help to you. I don't even know how I wound up here. All I know is that I had another dream."

"Ah, a dream? What about?"

"I dreamt that my husband had returned to me. My husband that was slain over ten years ago. Do you think that I am crazy?"

"Your husband you say? Could you have possibly thought that this man over here is your husband?" The healer asked pointing towards the bed next to hers.

It was real. The whole thing really happened. Her husband was alive!

"It was no dream! He has returned!" Gilraen gasped.

And so Gilraen and Arathorn lived on in happiness for nearly a year. Arathorn new in his heart that now that he was nearly fully recovered, it was his duty to return to the north. He had never mentioned this to his wife for he knows how she hates the thought of losing him again. He has talked to many old friends about her behavior while he was supposedly dead. He learned that she had disconnected herself from all social contact. He also grieved to hear the news of his son's death. He never spoke of it to his wife for he was afraid to breathe life into such a painful wound, and she never spoke of it either for she feared he would not respect her decision to delay the destiny of her son. They lived together in happiness for many weeks both avoiding the inevitable.

Gilraen could no longer keep this from her husband. As each day came to an end Gilraen began to see that no good would come from keeping this from her husband. He would find out the truth. Yet she couldn't seem to find the right thing to say. Many times had she tried to tell him, but failed in the attempt.

One evening as they had both sat down to dinner she made another attempt to tell him the news of her son.

"Arathorn, when I thought you had...died, I was completely devastated, and confused," she began. "Everyone was devastated. There were so many things left that you still needed to accomplish. Arathorn, you are Anarion's heir. Many were afraid that the line had ended after you, but others new of your son who was just an infant at the time. Many of those people came to me, interested in what I was planning for the child. Many of them suggested that I..."

"Gilraen, I understand. Many have told me of the tragic death of our son. It is not important for you to give me the dreadful details for I understand the pain it must cause you to bring to mind the moment. He was an important child, but it was not his destiny to fulfill his heritage. Tis a shame he met his doom at such a young age, but it was his fate," Arathorn tried to calm his wife.

"You do not understand. Our son, Aragorn, isn't dead!"

"Not dead?"

Gilraen explained her decision to her husband. She explained how she had left him in the care of the elves. She recalled every last detail in the matter until there was nothing more to tell.

Arathorn seemed to be very understanding with the choice that Gilraen had made. If the choice were up to him he would've done the same.

"You're right. The boy is not ready to take on his responsibilities. Even now I have survived, yet I do believe he should remain in Rivendell. It is best for everyone if he is kept a secret. Some evil is now stirring in the west. I feel if his identity is to be reveled he would no longer be safe."

They both agreed to no longer speak of the child. Yet it was hard for Gilraen to not think of him every day.

And suddenly through all of the sorrow came a glimpse of joy. Gilraen gave birth to a second child. It was a baby girl. She was given the name of Ellathorn.


	3. Birthday Surprise

**Chapter 2**

"Ellathorn! Will you please get down from there?" The young girl groaned. The young girl was the best friend of Ellathorn, Denewyn Minathora.

"You should come up here. You can see everything!" Ellathorn cried from the treetops as she swung from branch to branch.

"What would your mother think?" Denewyn cried in another desperate attempt.

"Oh no, my mother!" Ellathorn realized what trouble she would be in if her mother were to see her now. Her mother had always been over protective of her. She never allowed her to do anything even slightly dangerous. Today she had been sent by her mother to deliver some herbs to the Houses of Healing. Now she had no recollection of where she had left the herbs. She quickly climbed down to where Denewyn was standing on the ground. On the way down she lost her balance and fell the last three or four feet to the ground where she landed on her hands and knees. She felt a sharp pain come from her left shin. She wiped away the grass and examined it. There was a small gash just below her left kneecap, and blood was slowly trickling out. She hastily wiped it away and stood up.

"We were supposed to be home by now. My father's going to kill me," Denewyn was always afraid of her father's punishments. Her father was a strict man. He was often too busy to even care for his children. Her father was Denethor son of Ecthelion, the steward of Gondor. Denewyn had two brothers, Boromir, and Faramir. Her brother, Boromir, was a favorite of her fathers. He was also very strict, and never broke any of their father's rules. Faramir, on the other hand, always seemed to find himself in trouble. Denewyn loved her little brother, Faramir, very much.

"Come on, let's bring these to the healers," Ellathorn said as she brushed herself off, and picked up the kettle that was resting at the foot of the tree.

Together they skipped off to the Houses of Healing. The girls had been best friends for many years, even though their families despised each other. Ellathorn's father was the rightful king of Gondor, and Denewyn's father knew that Arathorn was the only one with the power to steal his thrown. Yet the girls managed to be secret friends.

Both girls were no older than twelve years. Ellathorn was a little shorter than Denewyn, but not by much. She had waist length wavy brown hair that her mother had pulled back into a single braid. Ellathorn seemed to find it impossible to stay clean. She was a very attractive young lady if it weren't for the layer of dirt always covering her beautiful face. She possessed a certain beauty that could not be pin pointed, or explained; it seemed as though she had a definite glow about her. It seems as if it was originating in her deep green eyes that always shown bright, even through the mask of mud.

Denewyn Minathora on the other hand, was a clean, proper, young lady. She was also quite pretty, but it was more of a natural beauty. She had shoulder length auburn hair that always seemed to be neat and kempt. She had soft brown eyes that gave her the appearance of a kind and friendly person.

The sweet, innocent-looking, little girls had caused enough trouble for their time, but always managed to come up with an excuse.

"What shall we tell our parents happened this time?" Denewyn asked Ellathorn as though she always had an answer.

"We'll say we got lost on our way," she answered as though the answer were obvious.

"We used that one last time," Denewyn reminded her.

"You shall think of something, I'm sure, to tell your father. I hope he isn't mad," Ellathorn added.

"I should hope so," Denewyn agreed. "I shall see you tomorrow then; I best be home before nightfall."

They both said their good-byes and set off in separate directions.

The two girls had been through many years together, and faced many challenges of growing up that they couldn't have faced on their own. And over the next years to come they faced many more challenges together until they grew to be mature young ladies.

Although the girls rarely got a chance to see each other any more, they still remained loyal friends. As Denewyn grew older much more was expected of her at home. Especially after her mother had died.

As a child Denewyn rarely had any opportunity to see her mother. Her mother was a busy woman. She had not the time to be looking after little children. Denewyn and her brothers were raised by a house nurse. It had upset Denewyn that her mother did not care more for her. The few opportunities that the girl had to see her mother were not at all satisfying. The woman had no tolerance for the energetic child.

As Denewyn grew older she began to see her mother less and less. Until one day when she discovered that her mother was ill. Denewyn was no older than ten when it happened. She went every day to the Houses of Healing to visit the women who never really understood the desperate child. At the Houses of Healing Denewyn met a young girl named Ellathorn. Ellathorn's mother was preparing to be a healer there. Denewyn and Ellathorn became the best of friends. Ellathorn was there to comfort Denewyn, even on the dreadful day when news came that Denwyn's mother had passed away. It took a while for Denewyn's grief to fade, but Ellathorn stood by her the entire time.

After the death of her mother, Denewyn's responsibilities increased immensely. She rarely had time for even her best friend anymore.

But today was special. It was Ellathorn's birthday. Denewyn would never forget this special day. She decided to dedicate the whole day to her old friend.

Ellathorn had woken up particularly early that special morning for the excitement made it quite difficult to sleep any longer. Her mother and father were already awake. Ellathorn could hear their whispers seeping through the cracks of her chamber door. They seemed as though they were trying desperately to keep something from their daughter. What could it be? Ellathorn just shrugged it off figuring it was a special birthday surprise. She slowly dressed herself into her best attire. She sat in front of the mirror trying frantically to fix her hair. As soon as she felt that she looked presentable she slowly opened the door. The very moment that her parents noticed her presence their whispering ceased.

"Good morning, Mother, Father," Ellathorn said as she gave a little curtsy.

"You are up unusually early this morning, Daughter," Arathorn teased the girl.

"Oh Father, I was much too excited for sleep," Ellathorn said as she danced around the room. "For I know that you must remember what day it is."

"Could it be? Your birthday already."

"Of course it is!"

"You must be starving, Ellathorn, wash up and I will make you some breakfast," Her mother said as she arose from the table, and glanced quickly at her husband as if to say 'we will finish this conversation later.'

Together the family ate their breakfast of fresh eggs, sausages, and hash, in silence.

"May I please be excused?" Ellathorn asked when she had eaten her fill.

"Yes you may," Her mother excused her. "I suppose you and Denewyn have something planned for the day? Do make sure that you are home for dinner. Your father and I..." she motioned towards Arathorn, "...we have something we must tell you."

Ellathorn looked suspiciously from her father to her mother. Something was going on, whether it was good or bad she had no guess. She slowly stood up, and walked towards the door. She stole one more quick glance back at her parents before pushing the door open and exiting the room.

She walked quickly to where her and Denewyn had planned to meet. Denewyn was nowhere in sight. Ellathorn sat down on a rock to wait. She haphazardly picked up a stick and began scribbling in the sand. She figured she must've been early for Denewyn was never late. She remained there for what seemed to be a quarter of an hour until she figured that something must've been wrong. She walked towards the citadel where Denewyn lived with her family. She walked slowly to make sure not to miss Denewyn on her way. She did not run into Denewyn as she half expected, but she did run into someone else.

"Faramir?" Ellathorn was quite surprised to see him out wandering in the woods.

"Ellathorn, I've been looking for you. It's Denewyn. She's sick," Faramir said. He seemed to be out of breath.

"Denewyn's sick?" Ellathorn gasped. Ellathorn turned and sprinted in the direction of the Houses of Healing with Faramir following not too far behind.

Ellathorn and Faramir reached the Houses just minutes later, out of breath, hearts pumping in their chests. "She's over there," Faramir panted as he pointed to a bed near the window. There were many people gathered around her bed. Some of them were friends; the others were healers.

Ellathorn walked slowly towards the bed. She wondered if something was seriously wrong. As she walked up many of the gathered people stepped backward making room for her to look upon the patient. She quickly recognized the young man who was leaning over Denewyn to be her brother, Boromir. Denewyn seemed to be asleep. Ellathorn looked at Boromir then back at Denewyn. Denewyn seemed to stir in her solitude. Her eyes seemed to flicker open for a split second. And again. Her eyes were adjusting to the light, which was pouring in from the open window. Sudden commotion came over the crowd of people.

"All right, everyone, if you will please just take a step back. Give her some space. If you can all just please wait over there," One of the healers said trying to direct the people. Many of the people left the House, others waited by the door.

"You too miss. I'd appreciate it if you backed off," the healer spoke to Ellathorn.

"You don't understand," Ellathorn tried to explain. The healer didn't want to hear it. She firmly grabbed Ellathorn by the arm.

"Wait! She's a friend," It was Boromir. He looked up at the healer, but only taking his eyes off of his sister for a second. The lady took her hands off of Ellathorn. She stepped closer to where Denewyn lay.

Boromir stood up. He walked over to where Faramir stood waiting.

Denewyn let out a moan, "Ellathorn?"

"Yes it's me. How are you feeling?" Ellathorn stepped even closer taking Denewyn's hand in hers.

"Happy birthday," Denewyn tried to say, but it ended up coming out as more of a groan.

Ellathorn let out a short, forced laugh, "It isn't very happy now is it?"

"I didn't mean to ruin your birthday."

"Don't be silly. It's not ruined," Ellathorn convinced her friend. "We're still together, aren't we?"

"Ellathorn?" Denewyn gasped again.

"Yes?"

"Please don't leave me."

"I won't, Denewyn, I won't."

Denewyn seemed to drift back to sleep. Ellathorn remained at her side, stroking her hand. Faramir walked over to her.

"We found her last night. She was weeping and moaning. She was hardly conscious. She felt clammy so we brought her to the healers. She's been complaining about a pain in her stomach," Boromir explained to Ellathorn.

Ellathorn looked up at him. She did not know what to say. She looked back down and Denewyn. And so she remained for the rest of the day. Denewyn would wake up periodically, and Ellathorn would talk to her and rub her head until she would drift off again.

It was nearly dusk before Denewyn finally came around again. Ellathorn had drifted off to sleep herself.

"Ellathorn?" Denewyn called trying to wake her from her sleep.

"Denewyn! Sorry, I must've drifted off. How are you feeling?" Ellathorn asked as she wiped the puddle of drool from the side of her face.

"Terrible! I had something really special planned for your birthday. Now it's ruined," Denewyn felt miserable.

"I told you already I don't care, as long as you get better," Ellathorn explained again. "Anyways, there will be plenty more birthdays. Think of how many we have already spent together."

"You're right. Together we must've celebrated..." Denewyn paused as though she was pondering something. "Some friend I am. We've been friends as long as I can remember, but for the life of me I cannot recall how old you are turning today. You must be seventeen."

Ellathorn shook her head.

"Eighteen?" Ellathorn shook her head again. "You can't be older than me. You must be sixteen then."

Ellathorn just laughed to herself, "No."

"I give up," Denewyn was quite puzzled that Ellathorn could be so much older than her, but she had no idea.

"Try thirty one."

"Thirty one! No way are you that old!" Denewyn knew that Ellathorn must have been joking. "But you look no older than seventeen."

"It's the honest truth. Haven't you wondered why I never told you how old I was before? It was because I didn't think that you would understand," Ellathorn smiled at her confused friend. "My father is a part of the Dunedain. He is an Elessar. I am an Elessar. We are blessed with long life," Ellathorn explained.

Denewyn just stared at her friend in a state of disbelief.

Ellathorn had always looked and acted very young for her age. Especially when she was just an infant. The members of the Dunedain outlived all other races of men. Many of them lived into their two hundreds. So you see, Ellathorn was no older than Denewyn at heart.

Denewyn was still staring at her friend in amazement when the door to the house flew open. Boromir had just walked in. At that moment Ellathorn realized that the sun had already set. Her mother had told her to be home by dinner. They would've eaten hours ago.

"Oh no! I need to go!" Ellathorn said as she hastily stood up and ran towards the door.

"You cannot walk home alone in the dark. It is not safe. I will take you," Boromir offered.

Ellathorn did not argue. She walked towards the door. She turned back and gave Denewyn a quick smile. She turned and walked outside. Boromir followed right behind.


	4. Sickness, Slander, and solitude

**Chapter 3 **

"If you're going to walk me home will you please walk a little faster? I'm in a hurry," Ellathorn urged Boromir as she sped up.

"I'm worried about Denewyn," Boromir said out of the blue as though it had been on his mind for quite a while. "She has always been a fragile girl. I fear that she is just being overworked."

"Denewyn's a lot stronger than you think," Ellathorn said as she looked up at his worried face.

"You seem to know her quite well. Although my father refuses to see it, I know that you two have been friends for a long time. I also know who you really are. You are the daughter of Arathorn, Isildur's heir. I just want you to know one thing," Boromir stopped and took her by the arm. "My father is the steward of Gondor. If it weren't for him this city would've fallen apart long ago. This city belongs to him, understood?"

Ellathorn pulled her arm away, and began to run. Boromir easily caught up to her. Once again he grabbed her by the arm. "I know that your father is up to something. And I'm going to figure out just what it would be."

"My father is up to nothing!" Ellathorn said through clenched teeth as she tried to free her arm from his tightened grip.

"Oh, is that so? Then why does he remain in Minas Tirith, when all others of your _kind_ still reside in the North?" Ellathorn had no idea of what he was speaking about. "If you're so sure that he's up to nothing then tell me, why would he have faked his own death?"

Ellathorn wondered what Boromir was speaking of. He seemed to be out of his mind. Her father had never faked his own death. She just looked up at Boromir, and shook her head. "Let me go!"

Boromir let go of her arm. Ellathorn took a step backwards, but did not run. She rubbed her arm where he had been holding it, but continued to look up at him.

"You really don't know about that do you?" Boromir felt awful now for questioning the innocent girl when she knew absolutely nothing of the matter. "Look, I'm very sorry. I shouldn't have acted that way."

He took a step toward her.

She took another step backwards.

"You should be sorry. That is no way for you to treat a lady. And all of those lies about my father; do you expect me to believe them?" Ellathorn inquired.

"Ellathorn, you're parents never told you? About when your father '_died_' I mean. Your brother was just a baby when it happened..."

"You must be mistaken. I have no brother," Ellathorn was sure that Boromir was thinking of someone else. She had always been an only child.

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure!"

"Ellathorn, you must believe me. You had a brother. He died shortly after your father was rumored to be dead."

Ellathorn could bare the lies no longer. Boromir had been making up lies to turn her against her family. She stepped forward and struck him on the cheek. She immediately turned and ran the rest of the way home. Although she knew that Boromir was extremely confused, she could not force herself to stop thinking about what he had said. _Her father had faked his own death...when her brother was just a baby. _Nonsense. That's all it was. She tried to brush it away.

The moment she entered the door to her home she was ambushed by a very worried looking mother. Her mother squeezed her in her arms, and it seemed as though she would never let go. When Ellathorn looked past her mother she saw her dad sitting in the corner. He was smoking a pipe. There was another man there with him. The man was quite strange looking. He had on an odd cloak that he had pulled up over his head. They were deep in conversation. Arathorn hardly seemed to notice that his daughter had returned.

"Ellathorn! Where have you been? Your father and I have been worried sick. The sun went down hours ago. You know better than to wander alone at night!" Ellathorn was in no mood to explain everything to her angry mother.

"Forgive me mother," She pleaded halfheartedly as she glanced back towards her father and the stranger.

Gilraen released her daughter from her tight embrace. She held her out at arms length, and looked at her with tears welling in her eyes. "I was so worried," She said as the tears began to trickle down her cheeks.

Ellathorn had grown up all her life with an over protective mother, and a father who didn't seem to care. She was in no mood now to put up with this. Why couldn't her mother be like everyone else's? She had done nothing wrong. She didn't deserve this. She pulled away from her mother's grip and walked off to her chamber. She shut the door and fell down on her bed. It had been a long day. Denewyn was ill, Boromir had nearly attacked her, and now her mother was treating her as though she was just a child. She was no child. She was thirty-one years old now. Although she still felt like a child at heart, she wasn't. She was old enough to become a mother herself

And her father. Who was that man he was speaking to? Could it have to do with the important news that here mother had spoken of earlier that day? He seemed to care not that his only daughter was safely home. All her life her father had been home. He had never worked. Many of her friends thought it weird that her father would stay home while her mother would go off to work at the houses of healing. Ellathorn had stood up for her father many times. Now, for the first time, she felt ashamed of him. He was supposed to be the rightful king. For all she knew he could be '_up to something.'_

As she lie there she heard the door close. The strange man had left. Seconds later there came a knock on her own door. She did not answer. The knock came for a second time. Again she did not answer. Slowly she heard the door creak open. She shut her eyes and acted as though she was asleep. She felt her parent's stares burning upon her face. The door shut. She sat up. She heard voices outside:

"Arathorn, please don't leave without saying good-bye to your daughter," she heard her mother plead.

"I don't want to wake the child. Besides, I shall return. And when I do, we will tell her," Arathorn replied to his wife.

"Do you promise?"

"I promise," Arathorn bent down and kissed his wife gently on the head.

She stood up and walked over to the window. She heaved it open. She sat down in front of it and rested her elbows on the open sill. And slowly as the breeze blew through her hair she drifted off to sleep with dreams of a better life.

She awoke to the soft buzzing of a bumblebee just outside her window. She stood up and stretched her arms. It was nearly midday. She had never slept so late. She quickly dressed, and went to the kitchen to help her mother prepare breakfast. She soon realized that her mother was not there. Neither was her father.

At that moment she recalled all the events of the night before. _, 'Please don't leave without saying good-bye to your daughter...' _she remembered her mother saying. Had her parents really left her? The night before all that she cared for was being on her own. Now she wished that she had her parents back.

After conducting a thorough search of the house, just to make sure that she was not mistaken, she fixed herself a quick breakfast. She tried to think of where they would've gone. She had not the slightest clue. She finally decided that it would cheer her up to go visit Denewyn.

Ellathorn wondered if Boromir would be at the Houses of Healing visiting his sister. She did not want to have to face him today. She must admit that she had been pretty rude to him. Not saying that he didn't deserve it.

When she entered the houses, she saw many patients and their families. The only person near Denewyn was a healer that was trying to convince her to drink a fuming concoction of herbs. Boromir was nowhere in sight, but Faramir was sitting on a bench near the door. Ellathorn thought it best if she waited until the healer was through with Denewyn before she talked to her. She took a seat on the bench next to Faramir.

"How's she doing?" she asked him.

"She's looking a lot better. If only she wouldn't be so stubborn, and just take the herbs that the healers have prescribed to her," he replied. He looked up at Ellathorn. "Rumor has it that you are the one responsible for my brothers black eye." He just grinned.

Ellathorn couldn't help but grin herself, "Yes, that was me."

"No reason to feel ashamed. I've been trying to do that to him for years," Faramir joked. They both had a good laugh.

Ellathorn saw the healer leave Denewyn's bedside. She looked at Faramir. He gestured towards her bed as if to say '_you go first_.'

Ellathorn walked over to Denewyn. She seemed to be much more lively than she had the day before. She smiled when she saw Ellathorn coming. Ellathorn didn't smile in return.

"What's wrong, Ellathorn?" Denewyn always seemed to know when something was bothering her friend.

"My parents...they left me!" Ellathorn came right to the point.

"What are you talking about?" Denewyn knew that Ellathorn was wrong.

"Last night I heard them talking about leaving, and when I woke up this morning they were gone," Ellathorn was beginning to get very nervous now.

"Your parents did not leave you..." Denewyn tried to explain, but Ellathorn was just too flustered to listen.

"Oh, what am I going to do?" She worried.

"Ellathorn!" Denewyn finally shouted, using more energy than she had to spare at the moment. She was out of breath and could not finish what she was trying to explain, so she pointed to something on the other side of the room instead.

Ellathorn spun around to see a healer stirring a pot boiling over the fireplace. It was her mother! Ellathorn darted towards the women, and wrapped her arms around her shoulders. Gilraen was quite confused towards the girl's strange actions.

"What is it dear?" Gilraen could not understand why the girl was behaving this way. The last time that she had seen her daughter she had stormed off in an angry mood, and now she was hugging her.

"Oh, Mother, I had a terrible dream that you and Father left me," Ellathorn chuckled to herself over how foolish she had acted.

"What gave you a strange idea like that?" Gilraen wondered.

"Well, in my dream I heard you and Father talking outside my door. I heard you say to Father, '_Please don't leave without saying good-bye to your daughter_,' and I thought..." Ellathorn trailed off. It hadn't been a dream at all. Her mother really had said that.

Gilraen took a step away from the girl. She glanced up at her face, but quickly looked away. She stared down at the floor. She never imagined it being this hard to explain to her daughter.

"What is it?" Ellathorn could read her mother very well. Something was not right.

"I did say that," Gilraen said looking back up at her face. "Your father, he left."

What? Ellathorn did not understand. Her father had always been there.

"What?" She tried to say, but it was hardly comprehensible.

"Something came up. It was urgent," Gilraen tried to explain without revealing too much.

"That strange man had something to do with it, I know he did," Ellathorn knew better than to trust that man.

"Ellathorn, we will discuss this more later. At home," Gilraen said quietly as she glanced up at Faramir who was listening intently to the conversation.

Ellathorn did not want to wait, but she could sense the urgency in her mother's voice so she did not ask anymore. She quickly turned and walked towards the door. She took a last fleeting look towards her mother who had resumed her cooking over the fireplace as though nothing had ever disturbed her. She walked out into the cool air. She seemed to be in a daze. She began to walk towards the woods. Her mind was blank. Her feet carried her deeper and deeper into the forest. She walked for what seemed to be a quarter of an hour. As she walked her foot caught a root, and caused her to fall flat on her face. She sat up quickly suddenly realizing where she was. But she didn't know where she was. Nothing looked familiar to her. She scrambled to her feet, and looked about. She could not even recall which direction she had just come from. She sat down on a nearby rock. As she thought more of the situation at hand she realized that there was no way out. She was stranded. Ellathorn could not recall another moment where she had ever been so scared in her lifetime. She buried her face in her knees and began to sob.

She lost all track of time as she sat upon that rock. The next thing she knew, the sun had begun to sink below the horizon. She began to panic. She did not know what strange creatures roamed those woods in the dark hours of the night. She did not want to know. She began to hear many strange noises all around her, whether they were in her head or not she did not know. All of a sudden she heard footsteps drawing nearer to where she sat on the rock. These footsteps were not only in her imagination.

"Hello?" She croaked as she scuttled further up the rock. "Who's out there?"

The footsteps continued to draw closer.

"Who are you?" She demanded.

She heard a voice, but could not make out what it was saying.

"Show yourself!" She ordered.

All of a sudden a man walked out of the trees to her right. He was clad all in the armor of Gondor. He held a bow in his hands, which he had pointed at Ellathorn's heart.

"Ellathorn?" He asked as he lowered his bow.

"Who are you?" Ellathorn asked again.

The soldier tore off his helmet. The man in the woods was Boromir.

Ellathorn's heart jumped. She was saved. Boromir would surely help her find her way.

"What are you doing here alone at night?" Boromir asked her, taking a step closer. When he stepped into the moonlight Ellathorn could make out his swollen, puffy left eye. She gasped.

"Did I...Was that...from me?"

"I deserved it," he said as he stepped back into the shadows.

"I didn't mean to, honest, you were just scaring me, that's all," Ellathorn tried to explain.

"Ellathorn, about last night. I don't know what I was saying. I wasn't myself. Forgive me?" He pleaded.

"I shall forgive you only after you help me find my way home," she bargained.

"Follow me; stay close," Boromir led her away from the rock. She could not see where she was going. She tripped, and ran into the back of Boromir. He turned around and took her by the hand. They walked through the dark woods for several minutes. He led her into a large opening of trees. Ellathorn could see her house now. She felt so relieved.

Boromir let go of her hand, and said, "there, do I have your forgiveness?"

"Yes, and I thank you," She said as she turned, and quickly ran towards home. She could see smoke coming from her chimney. Her mother must've waited up for her. How happy she would be to see her mother again. Then maybe she will explain to her exactly why her father left them.

As she ran she realized just how tired she really was. She stumbled, and fell to the ground. Her mother saw her through the window. She stood up quickly and ran to help her daughter.

"Dear child!" Gilraen held her feeble daughter in her arms.


	5. The cloaked stranger

**Chapter 4**

Ellathorn rolled onto her stomach as her arm slumped over the side of her feather bed. The stone floor was cold from the crisp fall air billowing in through the slightly opened window. She opened her eyes for a split moment. She saw her mother squatted near the fireplace. Ellathorn tried to sit up but collapsed back down on her bed.

Her mother seemed to notice the commotion, and looked worryingly at her weak child. She quickly stood up and walked over to her. Ellathorn slowly opened her eyes. She looked up at her mother's concerned face.

"What happened? Where am I?" Ellathorn had no memories of how she got into her bed. In fact, she had no memories of the previous night whatsoever.

"You were lost in the woods," Gilraen said as she sat down next to her daughter.

Ellathorn began to remember now. She remembered the hollow feeling in her stomach as she sat in solitude upon the cold, hard rock in the middle of the forest. She remembered now, the armored stranger. He saved her.

"How did you know?" Ellathorn wondered how her mother would know about her being lost. Was she talking in her sleep again?

"Your friend, Boromir, told me," Gilraen replied.

"Boromir?" Ellathorn remembered him now. He was the armored stranger. He had saved her.

"He brought you home to me. You passed out right outside the door. I thought that you were dead. He assured me that you were still alive, although he was quite worried. He waited with me nearly all night. He only left a few hours ago," Gilraen said.

Ellathorn was confused. Boromir had threatened her the night before. Was he just trying to spy on her family? Was he just trying to figure out what it was that her father was '_up to'_?

"Did you see the black eye that the boy had? Said he injured it in a hunting accident. Wouldn't you know it? I told him to put some kingsfoil on that right away," Gilraen said as she stood to take the stew off the fire.

"Injured it in a hunting accident, you say?" Ellathorn laughed to herself. She tried to stand to give her mother a hand with the stew, but she could not find the strength.

Her mother poured the stew into a bowl, and brought it over to Ellathorn. "Dear, do you remember anything that happened yesterday?" She asked Ellathorn.

"I do recall now, being alone in the dark forest. I also remember the armored…I mean Boromir, trying to kill me. But I don't seem to remember exactly what happened after that," Ellathorn racked her brain, but did not find any answers.

"It does not matter now what happened. You are home safely, and that's all that matters. I was wondering more if you remember what happened _before_ you got lost," Gilraen said.

"I was running from the Houses of Healing…we had just gotten into a fight," Ellathorn remembered now, it wasn't a fight that they had had. "Wait, it wasn't a fight at all. You were trying to tell me that something happened to Father."

"Yes, I was. Where to begin? Well, as you already know, your father is gone," Gilraen swallowed hard at the thought. "You guessed that the 'strange man' had something to do with it. You were right."

"I knew that that man was up to no good. Where did he take him?" Ellathorn interrupted her mother.

"No my dear, you have it all wrong. He did not take yourfather anywhere. Your father chose to go," Gilraen nearly laughed at her daughter's foolishness.

"You mean to say that Father left us out of his own accord?" Ellathorn was outraged. Why would he leave them? She was beginning to believe that Boromir was right in his accusations.

"Your father is a very important person. He has abandoned his duties for many years to live with us. He cannot prolong them any more. He left with Lord Elrond the night before last," Gilraen tried to explain.

"Lord Elrond? The lord of the elves? That's who that man was?" Ellathorn felt ashamed now. She had disrespected such a sacred being.

"Yes. Lord Elrond of Rivendell. He told your father that he was needed in the north."

"So that's it then? He just left his family and his home behind?" Ellathorn was very upset with her father.

"He did not want to, but it was his duty," Gilraen looked down at her hands. She knew that her daughter would not understand. And she could not stand the thought of her own child enduring such hatred toward the man whom she cherished.

Ellathorn looked upon her mother. The women seemed very discontent. How could she spend her life in such solitude away from the man she truly loved? How could she keep such a brave face when inside Ellathorn knew that it was tearing her apart? Ellathorn turned away. She was ashamed of her father. She could hardly look her mother in the eyes anymore.

So many things had changed over night. All of the young girl's hopes and dreams had completely overturned themselves in no more than one day's time. Now she wanted for nothing better than to be a family again. To see her father sitting across from her at the dinner table, or to feel his warm smile upon her face each morning as he would tease her for her laziness, is all she could hope for in that moment.

Ellathorn shut her eyes, although she had no intention of sleeping. She only hoped to escape the awkwardness of the moment. Gilraen assumed that the child was truly asleep so she stood and walked towards the window. She gazed out as though she hoped to see her husband strolling up the path towards her, as she was so accustomed to him doing. She gently touched her fingertips to the glass. It was no use. All hope of seeing him had faded. "_Do not trust a hope_," she whispered aloud as though it was not meant for others to hear. Ellathorn had heard her mother though. It seemed quite unlike her. She was always positive. She was always the one who tried to convince Ellathorn to make the best of things. She could not stand to see her mother like this. She rolled over, and tried to clear her mind.

For what seemed to be only a few minutes turned out to be more towards a couple of hours that Gilraen sat with her gazed fixed out the window. She finally came to her senses as she looked over towards her sleeping daughter. She walked over to her. She could not get any closer for a lump had developed in her throat that had made it near impossible to swallow. She needed some fresh air. She grabbed her cloak, and quickly crept towards the door. She shut it behind her with a little less caution. Ellathorn heard the door slam shut, and sat up with a bolt. She soon realized that it was her mother that had slammed the door shut. She must have needed some fresh air. Actually, fresh air did seem rather appealing to Ellathorn.

She stood up slowly, and cautiously. She was feeling much stronger now than she had hours ago. She quickly changed into a clean dress, and pointlessly ran a comb through her almost never untidy hair. She put on her cloak and walked outside. The blast of cool air nearly knocked her over. She took a deep breath. The wind felt refreshing as it whipped her hair across her flushed face. She did not know where to go from there. She turned and headed towards the river, where she would follow her daily route.

The temperature dropped as she neared the waterfront. There were ripples upon the surface of the water. Ellathorn stopped in front of the river. She shut her eyes as she admired the peaceful sound of the water crashing upon the sandy shore. She opened her eyes and sat down on the shore. She took up a handful of the warm sand, and filtered it through her fingers.

She noticed as the water began to tremble. She peered up the river as though she expected to see someone running towards her, but she could not see past the sharp bend in the river a short ways down. She turned her concentration back toward the sand. She buried her bare feet deep into its warmth.

Out of the corner of her eye she noticed that the trembling of the water was steadily increasing. She stood up and brushed the sand from her hands. She leaned over the water in attempt to see further up the river. As she did so a white horse, which seemed to be carrying a man upon it's bare back, flew past her in nearly the blink of an eye. The speed of the animal caused her to lose her balance. She fell forward as a blast of cold water surrounded her body. The water was shallow with a depth of no more than two feet, yet it still managed to saturate all of Ellathorn's once warm clothing.

As Ellathorn looked up she saw another rider galloping towards her.

"Whoa!" she heard a voice utter as the creature slowed to a stop merely inches in front of her.

A man in a sleek brown cloak dismounted from the horse. He stepped down into the water with a splash, and walked towards Ellathorn. He held out his hand and she slowly placed her trembling hand into his. He firmly helped her to her feet.

"I apologize for the insolence of my friend," The young man said to Ellathorn.

"He seems to be in quite a hurry," Ellathorn replied through quivering teeth as she noticed the man's strong grip upon her hand.

He soon noticed that he had forgotten to release his hold upon her fair hand.

"Yes. He has urgent business with Lord Denethor," the man tried to explain.

"Who was that?" Ellathorn asked as her eyes darted after the mysterious gray rider. It was useless; he was far beyond sight by now.

"He is known in these parts as Mithrandir. To me he is known as Gandalf the gray," he answered.

"Mithrandir, yes. News has reached my ears of this gray wizard," Ellathorn recalled.

"Whatever you have heard is most likely untrue. The steward has no respect for the wisdom of Gandalf, nor the things that he has done for your city," the man ranted in the protection of his friend.

Ellathorn was speechless. She understood now of what the man was speaking of. "My father speaks very highly of Mithrandir. They have met before. That is all I meant," Ellathorn informed him.

"My apologies. 'Tis only that Gandalf…Mithrandir…is not very highly thought of by the Lord Denethor. He is not shown proper respect from the steward," he explained.

Ellathorn nodded her head to show that she understood. "No one is thought of very highly by the steward. He can be a very foul old man," Ellathorn spoke from her past experiences with Denewyn's father. They both began to laugh.

The man looked down at Ellathorn and noticed her trembling lips, and chattering teeth. "My lady, you must be freezing," he exclaimed as he untied the cloak from his own shoulders, and threw it around hers.

She looked up at him. He smiled at the surprised look upon her face. She noticed for the first time his luminous eyes. She seemed to get lost intheir deep green. Something about them seemed almost…familiar.

"I must be off. Once more I beg your forgiveness," the man pleaded of her.

She nodded as to say she was willing to forgive. Her eyes still fell upon his face as he mounted his horse, and dug his heals into the animal's underbelly. The horse took off. Ellathorn's gaze followed the rider down the river.

"Wait!" She called without thought. "I don't believe that you told me your name."

"Estel, they call me," he shouted back to her over his left shoulder. He turned back and made a clicking noise with his tongue. The horse picked up speed, and he soon faded from sight.

"_Estel,_" Ellathorn whispered as she drew his cloak tightly about her shoulders with one more quick look down the river, she turned and headed for home.

When Aragorn finally caught up to Gandalf he didn't find his old friend in the most delightful of moods. He had just gotten through with his discussion with Denethor.

"Despicable!" Gandalf muttered under his breath. "He cares not for the troubles of others, but only for his own."

Aragorn decided it best not to inquire as to Gandalf's ramblings.

"Ah, Aragorn," Gandalf said as he noticed his presence. "What took you?"

"Gandalf, in your haste you managed to frighten a young girl, nearly to her grave."

"You don't say? I failed to notice such an event?" Gandalf looked at Aragorn, and he could tell that there was more to the story than he was willing to share. He raised one eyebrow in questioning.

"There was something about her that seemed all too familiar," Aragorn said more to himself than to answer Gandalf's quizzical look.

It all made sense to the wizard. The girl in the woods must've been Aragorn's mother. He knew for a fact that she was still living in the city. Aragorn resembled the beautiful woman, and probably recognized himself within her. He wondered if she had recognized him. " What did you tell her?" Gandalf tried to sound nonchalant, yet he was very curious inside.

"I told her that you had urgent business with the steward, and that you meant her no harm."

"What did you tell her of yourself? Did she ask for your name?" His tone was much less indifferent than it had been. It was very important to him that no one in the city discovered Aragorn's true identity.

"She did ask for my name. I told her that I am called Estel," Aragorn knew better than to reveal his true name; his birth name, that is.

Gandalf seemed quite relieved at his answer, although he wondered if Gilraen knew her son by that name as well. He could not have his mother having any knowledge of his presence.

"Mithrandir?" Gandalf heard a voice call from behind him. He spun around to see the young captain of Gondor, Boromir. "Is it true? What you spoke of to my father? This gangle creature of which you speak, does it truly bear any significance in my city? I just cannot bring my self to imagine this one small creature to hold such importance over the attacks upon our city," his tone was curious, yet full of doubt.

"Boromir, this creature possesses important information of which the armies of Mordor would stop at nothing to obtain," Gandalf attempted to explain as his temper began to rise. "Yet if the enemy manages to get their hands on the creature, Gollum, before we do, it could prove fatal."

"How so, Mithrandir? What information could any creature possess that could possibly prove such importance?" Boromir tried to understand.

"That is not for you to know, young captain. All that is of your concern now, is that it does not fall into the wrong hands." Gandalf tried to suppress his rage.

"In what way would this help the people of Gondor? What good would come out of this? You want our people to risk their lives in gallivanting around Middle Earth in search of this 'Gollum' creature, yet you don't care to explain exactly why we are needed in your search?" Boromir could not seem to comprehend the man's crazy request.

"Not everything must affect your people directly in order for it to affect them," Aragorn said as he took a step closer to Boromir. For the first time Boromir noticed Aragorn. He could not understand why Mithrandir would travel with such a companion. The man seemed fairly descent looking despite his dirty and ragged look. His clothes were torn and tattered. His possibly handsome face was hidden by a mixture of dirt and sweat that seemed to be smeared across it. Boromir squinted at the man as though he was attempting to remember his face.

Gandalf interrupted Boromir's stare as he stepped between Boromir and Aragorn. "That will be all, Boromir," Gandalf said with a distinct finality in his voice.

Boromir quickly turned and started off in the opposite direction without even a quick glance over his shoulder.

"You must be more cautious, Estel," Gandalf breathed as he turned back to Aragorn. "Someone may recognize you."


End file.
